Do You Love Me?
by Anxious-Writer
Summary: Rachel wants answers. She's tired of things being pushed around and avoided. Does Santana love her? She needs to know. And she's done waiting for an answer.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Hey all. So I was recently going through Tumblr and I kept seeing angsty gifsets. So I was inspired a little. This is a oneshot for now, but I may continue it in the future. Thanks for reading! Enjoy!

**Warnings:** Contains anxiety related things, panic attack like reaction, as well as fairly graphic sex. **IF YOU ARE EASILY TRIGGERED BY DESCRIPTIONS OF PANIC ATTACKS OR ANXIETY, DO NOT READ THIS.  
**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the plot.

All mistakes are my own. Enjoy and please review.

* * *

"Do you love me?"

The brunette shrugged her shoulder and nodded. She sighed.

"Why can't you say it?"

"Oh come on, please don't do this," she begged, her eyes pleading.

"Why not? I need to hear it. It's been a year. _Six months_ of which we've been living together."

The girl dropped her head to her hand in response, a frustrated sigh escaping her lips.

"Santana, please," the brunette requested. "Please look at me."

Santana raised her eyes to meet the other girls', unable to contain her tears.

"Why can't you say it?" the short brunette asked, leaning forward, her gaze intense.

"I just… I can't."

"It's just me."

"You don't understand," she said, turning away, wiping away her tears, straightening her posture.

"Then let me."

A small hand reached her shoulder and she brushed it off.

"San,-"

"No. You don't get to do this, Rachel," Santana said, her gaze hardening. "Not now. Not after _everything._"

"Just, please. I just need to hear you say it."

"I… I can't."

The tall girl walked out, tossing her coat over her shoulders as she went.

Rachel dropped to her knees, her hands covering her face.

0-0-0-0-0-0

The tall woman walked through the door, tiptoeing around to hang up her coat and keys. Her phone blinked on the table, signaling that she had missed calls.

"I thought you wouldn't come back."

The girl jolted, pressing a hand to her chest.

"Fucking Jesus, Rachel. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"I thought you'd left me."

"Rachel, you know I would never—"

"Would you?"

The girl could only stare blankly in response.

"I can't believe you right now," Santana mumbled, tempted to storm out again.

"You took your coat and you _left_. You _left_ me."

"I just needed some air."

"Why didn't you just _say _that?!"

"I…," Santana started, her eyes widening. "I don't know."

"You don't know?"

The taller girl shook her head, pulling at the edges of her phone case.

"Look, I know you're mad—"

"I'm not, actually."

"Then why are you doing this?"

Rachel scoffed.

"I'm _hurt_, Santana. Surely you know what that's like. To have someone walk out on you."

Santana felt an icy sting creep down her spine.

"Rachel,-"

"No, Santana. You don't get to act like the victim."

"Rachel,-"

"NO."

"Rach—"

Santana felt a hard slap to her cheek.

"NO, SANTANA! YOU DO NOT GET TO ACT LIKE THIS! I _LOVE_ YOU! I TOLD YOU I LOVED YOU AND YOU WALKED OUT ON ME! YOU WALKED OUT JUST LIKE _EVERYONE ELSE_ IN MY LIFE EVER HAS!"

The tiny brunette stood, gasping out sobs, her hands clenched into fists at her side.

Santana hadn't yet turned to face the girl, her fingertips traced over her cheekbone, tears finding their way down the stinging skin of her cheek.

The smaller girl crumpled to the floor, her breaths coming in short gasps. Santana's eyes glazed over, but she dropped down in front of the girl.

"Rachel, breathe. Rachel, please," she begged, reaching for the girl's hands.

The gasps turned to pained wheezing, eyes darting back and forth aimlessly.

"Rachel, look at me. Listen. You need to breathe."

The shorter girl's eyes clenched shut as she struggled to find breath, her knuckles white as they gripped the front of her shirt.

"Baby, please. You need to calm down. Take deep breaths," Santana spoke calmly. "Like this."

The taller girl exaggerated her breaths, cupping Rachel's hand, gently pulling it to her chest.

The shorter girl's breaths started to slow, her hand shaky against Santana's breast bone.

"That's it, Rach. You're okay. It's okay, baby."

Rachel's brow furrowed, focusing on the breaths she was taking. Her body shook with effort as though each breath was a fight.

Santana reached forward, wiping tears from the girl's cheek before moving in to hold her.

Rachel's arms wound around the girl, holding tightly to her as she whimpered.

"I'm not leaving. I'm right here, Rachel. I… I love you."

Tears sprung to her eyes as she stroked the shorter girl's hair.

"I love you so much, Rachel. I'm sorry I didn't say it. I'm so sorry."

Rachel held on, sobbing into the girl's shoulder.

"I'm here, Rach. I'm here, baby. I'm not leaving."

The girl rocked Rachel in her arms, praying to whatever gods may be out there that this girl could begin to see how much she cared for her.

"I love you," she whispered as the girl's body fell limp against her.

Santana stood, carrying the smaller girl to bed. She settled her against her pillow, tucking a wisp of hair behind her ear.

She climbed into bed on her side, moving slowly to wrap her body around the smaller girl, burying her nose into her neck.

"I won't ever leave you, Rach," she whispered. "I'm sorry I didn't say it sooner. I was just scared. I was scared that things would turn out like they did the last time I gave my heart to someone. I can't lose you. I love you so much. You're all I think about. I just can't lose you. I'm so sorry."

She followed the shorter girl into dreams as waves of sleep passed over her, dragging her eyes swiftly shut.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Rachel stretched her arms, feeling the familiar ache in her whole body from being so tense. Her eyes shut as she whimpered, dragging the stretch out.

She turned to look at the other girl's sleeping form. Her mouth was slightly open as she drooled onto Rachel's pillow. Her hair was tangled and her arms wrapped tightly around the blankets, hugging them to her chest.

The shorter girl sighed and pushed the tangled black hair from her face, placing a gentle kiss to the girl's lips.

"I love you, S."

Hours later, the tall brunette emerged from the bedroom, her hair obscuring half her face from view. She dragged her feet to the kitchen, pouring a cup of black coffee sleepily into Rachel's kitty mug before taking a long sip. She groaned into the cup, gulping down the dark liquid.

Rachel watched in silent admiration as her girlfriend greedily drank the heavily caffeinated beverage. She nibbled a piece of pineapple.

The taller girl turned and walked behind Rachel, pressing her forehead to her shoulder, groaning sleepily.

"Good morning," Rachel whispered, reaching behind her to scratch at the girl's scalp.

"Mmmm 's nice," she mumbled in response, placing her coffee on the counter.

"I love you," the shorter girl said cautiously, turning to meet Santana's eyes.

There was a pause and the taller girl pushed her mess of hair away from her face.

"I l-love you too, Rach," she responded, no longer looking quite so sleepy.

A huge grin spread across the smaller girl's face and she leapt onto Santana.

Santana had to take a few steps back, stumbling under the unexpected weight of her girlfriend.

"I love you," Rachel mumbled into Santana's neck.

"I love you."

Rachel leaned down to kiss the girl, her legs wrapped tightly around the girl's stomach. Santana smiled against her lips, her eyes drifting shut.

Rachel squealed slightly as Santana's hands moved to squeeze her ass, pulling her closer.

"Bed," Rachel demanded, dragging at Santana's lower lip with her teeth.

The taller girl moaned against Rachel's lips, tangling one hand in her hair, pinning her to the bathroom door.

Rachel moaned, her head falling back against the door as Santana's lips found her pulse point, sucking hard.

The shorter girl's hands tangled into thick, black hair, her hips rocking against a taut stomach.

"Bed," Rachel whimpered, loving the feel of Santana's teeth against her collarbone.

Santana pulled back, smirking at her handiwork before thrown the smaller girl over her shoulder.

"Santana!" Rachel shrieked, smacking the girl's ass that was now level with her face.

"What? You said to take you to bed."

"I thought you would proceed in a more intimate fashion! Not throw me over your shoulder like a Neanderthal!"

Santana giggled, tossing the girl down onto the mattress, latching her lips onto the shorter girl's neck.

"Mmmm I s-suppose this is alr-right."

"Hmmm," Santana grinned against the girl's skin. "Thought so."

Within minutes the girls had shed their clothing, desperately needing to feel as much skin as they could. Their bodies rocked against each other, tongues tangling smoothly, fighting against each other.

"I love you," Santana murmured against the girl's chest, working her way down, wrapping her lips around a hard nipple.

Rachel gasped, her back arching hard into the talented mouth.

"I love you," she breathed.

Santana's hand tweaked her other nipple before she switched, dragging out obscene noises from the girl beneath her.

Rachel could barely contain herself, her hands struggling with deciding between Santana's hair and the sheets.

Sliding her body up, dragging her skin against Rachel's she pressed her hand against lean thighs before meeting big brown eyes to ask permission.

Rachel nodded enthusiastically, pulling the girl in for a kiss.

"I love you," Santana whispered against the girl's lips.

She pushed in, slipping her fingers into Rachel, eyes fluttering at the slick, stickiness she found. Rachel moaned, rolling her hips against the intrusion.

"I love you," she said, curling her fingers.

Rachel's eyes rolled back, her hips jumping slightly. Santana closed her eyes, pressing her forehead to the girl's neck.

She pumped her fingers slowly but deliberately into the girl, murmuring words of adoration against her skin. She could feel the girl's muscles tense and release beneath her, knowing she was close. Santana ramped up the pace until she was pounding into the other girl, feeling her sweat-slicked skin slide against her, squirming, begging for release.

She slid her thumb against the girl's clit, pressing hard, rolling it beneath her finger.

Rachel's mouth opened in a silent scream.

"I love you."

Santana felt the girl tighten around her fingers and she rubbed harder, sending wave after wave of pleasure through the smaller girl's body. She felt tears leak from her eyes, making pools in the dips and curves of the girl's tight body.

"I love you," Rachel whispered, her body limp as she dragged a hand up to cup the tan-skinned girl's cheek. "Kiss me?"

Santana complied, meeting smooth lips with her own before pulling out of the girl.

"I love you too, Rachel. I'm so in love with you."

Rachel wiped tears lazily from the taller girl's face, her body still shaking gently.

"I know, San."

The girl curled into Rachel's side, holding the girl to her chest.

Rachel slid her hand over Santana's hip before she was abruptly stopped.

"No, Rach. Today was about you. I love you. Let's rest."

Not usually one to receive and not give back twice as much, Rachel complied, resting her head on Santana's chest.

Santana smiled, feeling the girl's breathing even out as she rested against her.

Her arms tightened around the smaller girls' frame, nuzzling a muscled shoulder and she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

**A/N: **Please review. Thanks for reading.

**EDIT:** If you have any smut prompts, I'd like to work on my smut writing. Feel free to PM me some prompts! Thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** After reading a lot of fic yesterday, I decided to continue this and make it a bit longer. It's going to remain fairly angsty for the most part. Please review and let me know what you think.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the plot.

All mistakes are my own. Enjoy.

* * *

Rachel woke up the next morning, wrapped tightly in a tangle of beautifully tanned limbs. She smiled, turning toward the other girl. She pecked her lips and tried, in vain, to escape the warm trap she found herself in.

"Santana," Rachel sang softly.

"Mmm… No." the girl grumbled back. "Sleep."

Santana tightened her grip on the smaller girl, nuzzling her shoulder.

"San," Rachel whined, squirming. "I want to go shower."

The girl made an incoherent noise, biting down on the smaller girl's shoulder.

"Baby," Rachel whimpered.

"No."

"But I feel icky."

"No. Sleep."

"San," Rachel husked.

The brunette peeked an eye open.

"I'll make you breakfast in just my apron."

Santana propped her chin up against the pillow, giving the shorter girl a thoughtful look. She sighed before releasing the girl, pouting when she pulled out of her arms.

"You could always join me, you know," Rachel flirted, winking.

Santana grinned sleepily, running a hand through her messy hair.

"Tempting, but I needs my beauty sleep. This sex appeal doesn't just happen."

Rachel rolled her eyes as she exited the room, putting an extra swing in her steps. Santana let her eyes scan her girlfriend's naked form before lying back down.

Rachel turned the water on hot, smiling at the memory of the night before. Santana loved her. And she told her. Fighting the urge to squeal and dance around, she stepped into the stream of the water.

Forty-five minutes later, Rachel emerged, wrapping a towel around her head. Santana groaned when the shorter girl entered the room singing.

"San, do you want to watch me cook breakfast?"

Santana groaned and rolled out of bed, pulling on her white, fluffy robe.

"Alright, Berry. I'm up."

Rachel walked past her, kissing her cheek before entering the kitchen, her hair still damp on her shoulders. She pulled on her apron and started to pull ingredients out of the fridge.

Santana stood at the coffee maker, watching lecherously as each drop of the deep, brown liquid pooled in the glass pot.

"San?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you," Rachel said nervously, eyes desperately searching for Santana's.

Santana turned toward her, her eyes a little wide. Rachel bit her lip in anticipation.

"I … I love you too, Rach."

Rachel grinned, launching herself at the other girl, kissing all over her face.

"Baby, I need coffee if we're gonna do this."

"Forget coffee."

"Raaaachhhh…," Santana whined.

"Would you rather drink me or coffee?"

"I thought you were going to cook for me."

"We can eat later. Food, that is," Rachel grinned, biting her lip.

Santana rolled her eyes.

"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day," Santana stated firmly, letting her eyes roam the smaller girl's form. "And I wants to watch my hot ass girlfriend cook for me."

Rachel sighed, relenting as she headed back to collect her ingredients.

Santana poured her cup of coffee, moaning as the rich drink met her lips. Rachel scoffed. Santana and her damn coffee.

"So what's on the menu this morning, Chef Berry?"

"Omelets. Real for you, vegan for me."

"Sounds good," Santana chuckled, watching as Rachel struggled to reach plates from the cabinet.

Rachel whipped around, pouting her lower lip.

"What?"

"Will you get the plates?"

"Why don't you get the step-ladder?"

Rachel frowned.

"Fine. I'll get them," Santana sighed exaggeratedly, dragging herself from her seat.

Rachel's face split into a beaming smile. She walked behind the taller girl, pulling the robe off one shoulder, kissing the skin she found.

"Hey. Breakfast first, shorty."

Rachel pouted yet again.

"Had I known telling you I loved you would make you this horny, I would've done it sooner."

Rachel's mouth dropped open.

"Santana! That statement is not in the slightest bit romantic or appreciated!"

"I never said I was Casanova."

Rachel frowned, scrambling eggs in a glass bowl. Santana sipped her coffee in silence. Rachel flipped Santana's omelet onto a plate and placed it in front of the girl, turning to make her own.

"Thanks, Rach."

Rachel shrugged in response.

"Oh come on, baby. It was a joke."

"It wasn't funny," Rachel mumbled. "You finally say the words I've been waiting for for months and then throw out that you just said it to get into my pants."

"Rachel, I didn't mean it like that."

"Of course not."

Santana sighed, taking a bite of her omelet.

"You are an idiot, Rachel Berry."

"You are not helping your case, Santana Lopez."

"No. What I mean is that you're stupid to think that."

"_Really_ not helping your case," Rachel told her, glaring at the pan containing her breakfast.

"I just can't believe you'd think that little of me," Santana told her, finishing her omelet before getting up to go shower.

Rachel threw her hands up in frustration.

"What am I supposed to think when you went from sleeping with every willing thing that had legs and a vagina to wanting to be with me? Am I not just some conquest too? Am I just easy sex for you now?"

"Oh fuck off, Rachel," Santana told her, slamming the bathroom door shut. Tears stung her eyes as she turned the shower on as hot as it could be.

Rachel wanted to scream when she realized she'd burned her omelet. She took the pan and dumped the food into the trash, slamming cabinets, dumping dishes into the sink.

The shorter girl dropped down onto the couch, pulling her knees to her chest.

Half an hour later, Santana emerged, walking straight into their bedroom, locking the door behind her.

_How could Rachel think that? How does she not see how much I fucking care about her?_


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** I don't know if I will continue this story or not. I kind of feel like it's just one I may come back to, but I don't feel the need to really turn it into anything. I'll try to update it at some point. (It'll likely be today or tomorrow because I've been really inspired by this.) Thanks so much for reading, favorite-ing, and following! It means a lot, especially since this is only my second real fic. Please review!

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing but the plot.

All mistakes are my own. Thanks for reading! Enjoy!

* * *

Rachel rolled over, groaning at feeling of the edges of the couch cushions digging into her back.

Santana had silently claimed the bedroom the night before, leaving Rachel on their, admittedly inexpensive, couch.

The short brunette sat up, cursing herself for not splurging on better furniture.

She padded into the bathroom, rubbing her burning eyes from the tears of the night before.

The bedroom door creaked open and Rachel heard Santana cursing their coffee pot.

She peeked her head around the hearth to see the Latina rubbing her eyes, tear tracks evident on her cheeks.

_Why would _she_ be crying when she's the one who hurt _me_?_

Santana sat at the breakfast bar, sipping her coffee.

Rachel sighed and turned back toward the mirror. They needed to talk. But making Santana talk was like forcing a large wild cat into a cage ten sizes too small. Fucking impossible.

Internally cursing the Latina, she stepped into a steaming hot shower.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Santana had cried herself to sleep that night. And she was fucking _exhausted_. It seemed like every time they took a step forward in their relationship, something had to come and shit on everything Santana cared about.

Her and Rachel's relationship had always been rough… To say the least.

And it was mostly Santana's fault. But not always.

Rachel had this thing where she was just fucking _difficult_ sometimes. It drove Santana nuts.

And sometimes that was a good thing.

But right now, she could slushy the girl and feel no remorse. She was being an idiot. Of _course_ Santana loved her. Why else would she have bought a goddamn engagement ring?

Well, Rachel didn't really know that part yet.

And now, Santana wasn't even sure she ever _would_.

If Rachel could just shut her damn mouth and stop asking questions, things would be so much easier.

But the verbose little diva always had to add in her two cents.

_Or twenty thousand dollars worth_.

Santana sighed, putting her coffee mug down, spinning it on the counter.

She jumped in her seat when she heard the bathroom door open. She cringed internally for not paying closer attention to the time. Rachel was standing (naked) between her and the bedroom. And she was naked.

"Santana, we need to talk."

The Latina kept her head down, glancing at the diva out of the corner of her eye.

"Santana? Did you hear me? Or have you somehow lost your ability to listen?"

"I heard you, Berry."

"I just think we need to discuss where we think this relationship could be going. I want to be sure that we're on the same page before I allow myself to commit fully in an emotional sense."

Santana fought the urge to roll her eyes and took a deep swig of coffee.

"Santana."

"Yes?"

"Did you comprehend what I was propositioning?"

"Yes, Rachel. I comprehended."

"… And?"

Santana sighed.

"Sometimes you just need to shut up and let things happen, Rachel."

Rachel scoffed, her mouth dropping open.

"Santana Gabriella Lopez! I am offended that you—"

"Will you just shut the hell up and fucking marry me?"

"—Cannot even believe that you're implying that-… Wait, what did you say?"

"Forget it."

"No. Santana—"

"Just forget it."

The tan-skinned woman stalked past Rachel, muttering to herself.

"Santana!"

The girl came back into the room, frustratedly pushing her hair out of her eyes, adjusting her glasses. (Yes, Santana Lopez wears glasses. Do you have a fucking problem with that?)

She placed a small, black box on the counter and pointed to it.

Rachel stood with her mouth agape, amazingly _speechless_.

"Is that..?"

"Just open the damn box."

Rachel reached forward, her hand trembling and pulled the box open.

Inside sat a simple silver band with small diamonds embedded.

She gasped and nearly dropped the box to the floor. _Was this really…?_

Santana sighed and snatched the box out of the shorter girl's hand, stomping back to their shared bedroom.

"Santana?"

"What?" Santana snapped.

"Was that a…? An…-"

"Yes, Rachel. It was an engagement ring. But the joke's fucking on me. I get it. You wouldn't want to marry me. What the fuck ever. I didn't want to marry you either."

Santana crossed her arms over her chest defensively.

Rachel searched her mind, desperate to find the proper words but she was found with nothing.

Santana scoffed, pocketing the ring box, she exited the room, slamming the bedroom door behind her.

_Shit._

Rachel sprinted to the bedroom, and slammed her fists against the door.

"Santana! Open the door!"

"No."

"Santana! Open this door right now!"

"Whatever, Berry," Santana said, ignoring the insistent banging.

Rachel huffed and walked to the kitchen, digging through their junk drawer. She danced in triumph when her hand closed over a nail file.

Santana had taught her some tricks.

Within seconds, the door hung loosely on its hinges, squeaking quietly open.

_Oh right. The nail file._

Santana internally scolded herself, using the bed sheets to wipe away any trace of tears.

"Santana, please."

"What?" the girl demanded, sitting up.

She cursed her nose for dripping, making her sniffle pathetically.

"Did you really mean that?"

"No, Rachel. I actually got that ring out of a toy dispenser at the grocery store. It was a joke," Santana snarked, rolling her eyes. "The box I picked up at a pawn shop."

Rachel put her hands on her hips.

"Santana," Rachel warned.

"I get it, Rachel. You don't have to come in here and tear my heart out further. I'll move out as soon as I find my own place."

"Santana—"

"I'll have all my shit boxed up in no time. Just, please, don't mention this to anyone."

"Santana—"

"No. You don't have to say it, Rachel. I know."

"No, Santana—"

"Just stop, Rachel. You've already broken my heart. You don't need to twist the knife. I understand."

"Santana!"

"What?"

"Give me the ring."

"What?" Santana asked, genuinely confused.

"Give me the ring box, Santana."

"Why?"

"Just give it to me!" Rachel snapped.

Sighing, Santana handed the box over.

"It's perfect," Rachel marveled, carefully cradling the box gently in her hands.

"It's what?"

"Put it on me."

"Why? Rachel, please don't do this."

"Put. The. Ring. On. My. Finger," Rachel stipulated, punctuating each word with a jab to the Latina's chest.

"Fine."

Santana took the ring from the box, forcing it onto the tiny brunette's finger. It slid on easily, resting on her knuckle.

"Yes, Santana Gabriella Lopez, I will marry your stubborn ass."

* * *

**A/N: **Again, this is mostly just a fun piece for me to come back to at my discretion. For now, I feel it's finished. But I may update it at some point. Thanks to those of you who read/followed/favorited my fic. I deeply appreciate it and will make a sincere effort to get more writing out soon! Please review!


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hey guys. It's been a long time. I recently got a job so I've been working a lot and trying to spend whatever time I have with my girlfriend. But on my days off, I'm trying to get back into writing. This chapter is mostly fluffy arguing between the two girls. I haven't had the energy to delve into the past yet and explain the first couple chapters, but I'm thinking I'll do that later on in a place where it'll flow better with the story. I'll likely continue this a little more but, again, I make no guarantees. Thanks for reading!**

**As always, I own nothing but the plot.**

**Work is unbetad so let me know if I screwed anything up.**

**Review, por favor!**

* * *

It's official. Rachel Berry is the craziest human being to ever walk the planet. Except maybe Jeffrey Dahmer.

But Rachel is at a really close second.

She's currently spreading out hundreds of invitations in different colors and shapes, with different ribbons and lace and whatever the fuck else.

What's the difference between olive green and sage green? They look the same.

"Oh _hell_ no, Berry."

"What?"

"We are _not_ using Comic Sans on our wedding invitations. I thought we were just gonna do this in a courthouse."

"Santana Gabriella Lopez!"

"Yes, Rachel Barbra Berry?"

"Don't you roll your eyes at me! A woman only gets one big chance at having the perfect wedding—"

"Unless you're a celebrity or someone who doesn't take marriage seriously."

Rachel stood with her arms at her sides, absolutely fuming. And it'd be intimidating if she weren't the size of a junior high student. Her chest puffed out as she inhaled deeply, gathering herself.

"I want this wedding to be perfect. I want _my_ wedding to be perfect."

"… _Our_ wedding. Is this about out-doing Quinn and Brittany?"

"No!"

"Rachel."

"It's possible that that may be a small factor."

"Rachel!"

"But I also have wanted the perfect wedding since I was a young girl, setting up my Barbies in the world's most perfect Broadway wedding."

"Rachel."

"Just help me pick a freaking invitation, Santana!"

Santana wilted under the tiny girl's stare.

"I like the red and black one with the lacey stuff. With the cursive-y writing."

Rachel sighed and rubbed her temples.

"Well, that narrows it down to about fifteen invitation designs."

Santana groaned and fell into the seat next to Rachel's.

"This is impossible. Can't we skip to the cake tasting?"

"We're getting a vegan cake."

Santana grimaced.

"Can we skip to the honeymoon then?"

Rachel sighed, letting her head drop to the table.

"Santana. Please just help me with the wedding arrangements."

"… Can we get Thai tonight?"

"Yes, we can get Thai."

"Can I fuck you on the kitchen table?"

"I… Only if we move all of the invitations first."

"But that's part of the draw… Screwing your brains out on all of the wedding stuff."

"We move the invitations or you're not getting any."

"Fine. I'll help."

Rachel smiled a little, pulling a stack of invitations toward her to tuck into a box. She then carefully spread out all invites that includes black, red, and lace.

"Okay. There's fifteen options."

"Get rid of the ones with Comic Sans, writing that you can barely read, and the typewriter ones."

Rachel tucked away ten more invitation designs.

"Okay. Five left. That's reasonable," Rachel stated, rubbing her palms on her yoga pants.

"I don't like that one," Santana responded, pushing one of the invites away.

"Why not?"

"It's too frilly."

"… Okay."

"You pick one and I'll pick one and then we'll decide."

"That also sounds reasonable. Okay."

The two girls sat in silence for a minute, analyzing the invitation cards.

"Count of three?"

Rachel nodded.

"One."

"Two."

"Three."

Both girls pointed, pinning their favorite invites to the table.

"I like this one," Santana commented, plucking the invite off of the table.

"Santana, we're having a wedding, not inviting people to the grand opening of a _brothel_."

"It's sleek and straight to the point."

"You said that about our strap-on."

"And I have yet to hear a complaint about that, Rach."

"Santana, I don't want our invitations to be a reflection of our sex life."

"Why not? Our sex life is great."

"My _fathers_ will be there."

"… Fine. But I like the writing on this one better than that one. Yours looks like a Disney storybook."

"Well, I _do_ want a fairytale wedding."

"Does that mean I need to wear a suit of armor? Because I'm only down with that if I get a sword."

"There will be no weaponry at my wedding."

"Why not? I could use it to help me rip off the bodice of your dress."

"There is a snowball's chance in Arizona that you will be ripping my dress."

Santana snickered.

"Santana, you know for a fact that Jews don't believe in hell."

"Arizona? Really?"

"It's the hottest place I could think of," Rachel confessed, glaring at Santana.

Santana cackled, smirking at the other girl.

"I can think of someplace hotter. Specifically between your—"

"Stop. Now."

Three hours later, they'd decided on flowers, place settings, and had started in on the seating arrangements before Santana flopped face down onto the couch.

"No more. Please."

"Santana, just this last thing. And then we'll get Thai."

"No. I need nourishment. I can't go on like this," Santana sighed, throwing her arm over her eyes dramatically.

"And they say _I'm_ the drama queen."

"I learned it from the best," Santana said, winking at the shorter girl.

"Three more tables."

"One."

"Six."

"… Two."

"Three."

Santana frowned before agreeing.

Another two hours passed and they finished six more tables, much to Santana's irritation.

"Thai food. Now."

"But San—"

"No. I did what you wanted. I did _double_ of the work I initially agreed to. Now I wants me some Thai food."

"Fine. Get me the menu."

Santana hopped to the kitchen, rifling through their take-out drawer before rushing back to Rachel, phone in hand.

"Spicy pad Thai with chicken," Santana stated, wrapping her arms around the shorter girl.

"Why won't you try something different? You get the same thing every time."

"Because it's my favorite."

"You could have a new favorite if you tried a different dish."

"Just order my dinner, lady."

Rachel stuck her tongue out at Santana. She called the restaurant, placing their order, and thanked them before walking to the kitchen to retrieve her wallet.

"So… Table sex?"

"After dinner."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Firstly, sorry to anyone who started this and thought it'd be super angsty and canon and whatever. My brain is kind of all over the place and I'll admit that I didn't watch a good majority of Season 3.

Secondly, I have to say that I had a good amount of time to write this week, but make no promises of continuing this story. I've found that if I leave the pressure off to keep writing, I'm more likely to do it. And I'm more likely to _enjoy_ it. (And that's important, right?) Encouragement is great, but please don't pressure me to write more.

Now, with that out of the way, let me explain this chapter a bit.

This chapter goes back and explains a bit of why the girls reacted the way they did in the first few chapters. I probably could've set it up better and will likely change it later, but for now, I kind of like just writing it out and explaining it for myself. See, when I started this story, I didn't think much of there being a back-story and explanations. I just had a lot of feelings and needed to get them out, but I've found that I'm very attached to this story and would like to continue it. In any case, this should clear up some questions you guys may have.

Flashbacks are in italics or are marked with the word "FLASHBACK."

_**WARNING:**__** IF YOU ARE TRIGGERED EASILY BY DESCRIPTIONS OF PANIC ATTACKS OR ANXIETY, PLEASE DO NOT READ **__**THIS.**_

As usual, all work written is my own, I own nothing relating to Glee except a Glee towel, and my work is unedited to please forgive my mistakes.

And review. Because that's always nice.

* * *

The first time Santana remembers saying those three words she was eight years-old.

Of course, she'd said it when she told her parents goodnight. She'd said it when her mami dropped her off for preschool.

But the first time she really remembers _meaning_ it, she was saying goodbye to her dad when he left for what was supposed to be a short business trip.

Mister Lopez was a strong, stubborn man who was determined to make a name for himself as a lawyer. After years of locking away "bad guys," he'd finally gotten to the point where he was interviewing for big companies. They'd called him early on Sunday, telling him that he needed to fly out for an interview in New York City.

Her whole family was overwhelmed with the prospect of her papi making it big, and the idea of maybe moving to New York!

Santana remembers him crouching in front of her for a hug, her face pressing to his crisp, blue oxford shirt and silky, striped tie that she'd picked out for him. She remembers the way his whiskers scratched her skin when he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

_"Adios, mija. Te amo."_

_"I love you, papi."_

She also remembers watching the news two weeks later when they explained what happened to him.

He was a good man. He tried to make the world a better place by putting away criminals guilty of heinous, indescribably gruesome crimes.

He wasn't ready when his first convict was released early for good behavior. He wasn't prepared to be confronted when he left the courtroom.

Santana remembers sitting in front of the news, watching her daddy's picture flash across the screen, blurring into pictures of the "bad guys," into the talking heads of newscasters.

**Criminal justice lawyer, Eli Lopez, shot down outside of courtroom.**

The second time she remembers meaning it, she was twelve. She stood with her mami, holding her hand. They were at the doctor's office, waiting for her mother's test results.

Before the doctor came back, Santana leaned up and grabbed her mami's hand.

_"I love you, mami."_

_"I love you too, Tana. Your mami is gonna be just fine."_

Breast cancer. The words plowed into her like an eighteen wheeler.

After months of treatment, watching her mami go from a powerful force in her life to being thin and tired in a hospital bed, they finally heard the word they were waiting for.

**Remission**.

Years later, her mami was alright. She went in for tests every couple months just to be sure, but the cancer hadn't come back, thank goodness. But something in her changed. Or maybe it was just the way Santana looked at her.

The third time she said it, she was staring into electric blue eyes, her arms wrapped protectively around her stomach.

_"I love you. Please say you love me back."_

_"Santana, I'm with Artie."_

The words wrenched into her stomach, crumpling it like a messed up drawing to be thrown away.

It was the first time she'd had her heart truly broken.

It was the first time she'd told someone she loved them outside of her family. The words didn't come naturally to her. They scratched her throat when they came out. They left her feeling raw, vulnerable.

She cursed the words. She _hated_ the words.

The fourth time she said it, she lost her abuelita.

And when Rachel first said she loved her, Santana wasn't sure if she'd _ever_ be able to say it back.

But what does she do when those three words always meant losing something?

She knew she'd lose the girl if she didn't find a way to say it back.

But what if she lost her anyway?

What happens if she tells Rachel she loves her, when she gives her her heart, and she loses her anyway?

**_FLASHBACK_**

_"Why can't you say it?" the short brunette asked, leaning forward, her gaze intense._

_"I just… I can't."_

_"It's just me."_

_"You don't understand."_

She didn't say those words.

She _never_ said those words.

They were a death sentence. They were cancer. They were heartbreak.

But Rachel was everything.

Santana couldn't lose again. Not this time. Not Rachel.

***R*S*R*S*R*S**

Rachel hated to admit it, but she was incredibly codependent. She remembers clinging to her daddy's leg when she was little, still learning how to come out of her shell. She remembers happily standing behind her classmates in ballet, allowing them to shine before she found her footing.

On stage, she learned to be perfectly fine with standing alone. In fact, she would later prefer standing alone to there being competing sound waves, trying to drown out her strong mezzo-soprano.

But off stage?

She craved companionship.

In elementary school, she had a few friends in her classes. They shared crayons (Rachel had the sixty-four crayon box with the sharpener on the back) and markers (Rachel's daddies didn't like how markers stained Rachel's fingers) and talked about the really important issues like what their parents had packed in their lunches.

After having her friend Candy over and watching how her parents reacted when they picked her up, she was sure their friendship was over.

People in Ohio didn't like that Rachel had two daddies. Dad said it's because they're jealous because most people only have one.

In junior high, Rachel learned to be alone. People judged her for what clothes she was wearing. They said her nose was too big for her face. To which, Rachel assured them that she was very much up to date with the latest, most fashionable styles and that her nose simply reflected her talent, mirroring that of the magnificent Barbra.

… They also may have said that she talked too much.

Rachel learned that it was important to stick to what you believed in. She went to her first few Gay Pride events in Cleveland and Columbus with her dads. She started competing in more serious singing competitions. She watched the news. She was passionately educated, perpetually thirsting for more knowledge.

But she still didn't really have anyone she could call a friend.

High school hit and she held even tighter to her beliefs, deciding it was better to stand out than to simply be a slave to beliefs that weren't her own.

But this alienated her immensely from her peers.

It made her even _more_ alone.

She ended up dating her way through the Glee club, strongly believing that she needed a leading man to complete her diva persona.

She fell hard for Finn.

She fell even harder for Jesse.

And somehow, she always ended up clutching her pink pillow, crying in to her bed sheets, wishing that someone would just _stay_.

When they left for college, Finn swore he'd be there for her.

And then he joined the army.

He stopped calling.

He stopped sending letters.

He just…. Disappeared.

Brody was next.

He chose himself over her every time. But that usually didn't bother Rachel. She knew you had to be at least a little self-absorbed to be able to put yourself out there and make it in such a difficult industry.

He left her too.

She started to become anxious when it came to friendships.

She'd lost Mercedes.

She'd lost Brittany.

Quinn.

Kurt.

Reaching out gradually got more and more difficult.

Talking to people, in a way that was more than casual or business, left her heart pounding in her chest.

And not in a good way.

She found that she started to have these episodes.

_Panic attacks._

The idea of people leaving her paralyzed her.

She _couldn't_ be alone.

She'd scroll through her phone, willing someone to call her. Text her. _Something._

She'd lose control of her breathing. She'd lose control of her thoughts.

She'd spiral into a moment where she couldn't even see straight.

They left.

They always did.

And that was when Santana sauntered back into her life.

They'd made nice in college, supporting each other with as little judgment as possible. But their friendship was… Well. Tumultuous. To say the least.

Santana and Rachel were both hard-headed and determined in ways that pulled them together and shoved them apart.

But something about their friendship just… _worked_.

It was months later when Santana asked Rachel to go out to dinner with her.

And Rachel blatantly laughed in her face.

**_FLASHBACK_**

_"You can't be serious, San."_

_"… Whatever. I didn't want to take you out anyway."_

_Rachel reached out, grasping the other girl's upper arm._

_"You. Want to take me out?"_

_"No, Rachel. I was talking to the twelve-armed ghost behind you."_

_"Santana."_

_"What?"_

_"Yes."_

_"What?"_

_"I will go out with you. So long as you don't try to feed me meat."_

_"Berry doesn't want meat in her mouth?"_

_"Santana!"_

_"Lesbihonest, Berry. No one likes that kind of meat in their mouth."_

_Rachel grimaced._

_"Just let me go get dressed."_

Some people said it was out of the blue. But Rachel had always been incredibly open to the idea of falling for anyone. It was something she was raised to believe. Love is fluid. Sexuality is fluid.

Anyway, people judged Rachel for going out with the infamous Santana Lopez.

She lost even more friends, putting a greater strain on her tentative relationship with Santana.

Over time, Santana became well acquainted with Rachel's social anxieties.

When Santana walked out, Rachel was _devastated._

Even if it was just to go for a walk, Rachel couldn't stop her thoughts from leaping to the absolute worst possible conclusions.

She left.

She was gone.

She didn't want Rachel anymore.

She wasn't ever coming back.

She was done.

When Santana reappeared, Rachel was absolutely _fuming_.

She knew what she'd done.

Santana wasn't thinking. And she knew it'd cost her in ways she wasn't prepared to pay.

In the end, they somehow ended up back together.

They understood their differences. They knew when enough was enough. And they knew when they were just pushing it because they were just so damn _stubborn_.

But they also knew that they'd been through so much together.

And they'd go through hell and high water to make it back to each other.

They worked.

Together.

* * *

**A/N:** Please for the love of all that is holy, review. I'd really like to get some feedback on this story. And feel free to PM me if you have any questions. Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Hey. Short update today because I worked a 9-hour day and I smashed my thumb in an industrial can opener. Yay. But it's alright. I hope you guys like this chapter and that you keep up the really sweet reviews, follows, favorites, and everything else. You guys are great. I also think I'll be switching this to an "In Progress" story because I think I have a bit more planned for this story.

Thanks for reading!

As always, I own nothing and this work is completely unedited.

* * *

"San?"

Santana rolled over in bed to face the voice that dared wake her from her slumber.

"Yes, Rachel?" she croaked, eyes half-open.

"Why is it so hard for you to say that you love me?"

Santana sighed and sat up, pulling the sheets up to cover her body.

"You know why, Rach."

"Santana, I think it's more than just the fact that you don't like the words," Rachel replied, tugging at a stray thread on their comforter.

"Rachel, I've been hurt."

"I understand that, Santana. I have as well."

"I know, Rach. Just… Let me finish."

Rachel nodded, tentatively reaching out to grasp Santana's hand.

"Bad things always happen after I say those words."

"Santana, that's just coincidence. Or bad timing. People don't appreciate—"

"Rachel. Let me finish, please."

Rachel sighed, miming zipping her lips.

"You know that my dad died when I was young, yes?"

Rachel nodded, squeezing Santana's hand.

"The last thing I said to him was 'I love you,'" Santana choked out, eyes downcast.

"That's beautiful, Santana."

"Rachel…," Santana warned.

"Sorry. Being quiet now."

"When my mom was told she had cancer, I had just told her I loved her."

"But…"

Santana pinned Rachel with a slight glare and Rachel squeezed her hand.

"The first girl I fell in love with, Brittany… When I told her, she told me she was with Artie."

Santana closed her eyes, sighing deeply.

"My abuelita disowned me when I told her. Every time where I remember putting as much feeling as I could behind those words, something awful happened afterwards. I know it seems silly or like it's just a coincidence. I know you'll say that those words have no bearing on my fate or something. But it's… It feels like every time I say it, something bad will happen."

"… Did anything bad happen when you told me?"

"You almost went into a panic attack."

"San, you know why that happened. It wasn't because—"

"I know. Just… I know."

Rachel sat and watched the gears screech to a halt as her girlfriend closed off, her mind shutting down.

"San."

"What? You want to ask me more prying questions? Or are we done here?"

"Santana…"

"What the fuck else do you want from me?" Santana growled, getting off of their bed to rummage through their kitchen cupboards. Her hand closed around the neck of a clear, glass bottle. She wrenched off the top and took a swig, wincing at the sting of alcohol.

"Santana."

"What?"

"Please, don't do this."

"Do what? Ruin everything because I'm a fucking mess? Because I'm fucking cursed? Because I can't even say 'I love you' without something awful happening?"

Rachel sighed and grabbed the bottle from Santana's hand, depositing it on the counter.

"Dance with me."

"Rachel, I'm not down with whatever stupid Broadway icebreaker that you—"

"Please."

Santana groaned, extending her arms in a way that more resembled a zombie impersonator than a dancer. Rachel tried not to giggle at her girl and carefully took her hand, leading her to the open space between their living room and kitchen.

"Rachel, there's no music."

Rachel sighed, wrapping her arms around Santana's waist, leaning her head on the girl's chest. Santana's arms hung stubbornly limp at her sides as she shuffled from side to side, groaning and sighing.

Rachel grasped Santana's arms, forcibly wrapping them around her body.

Santana left her arms limp around Rachel's shoulders before giving in and holding the girl as they swayed. Rachel started to hum, which inevitably turned to singing as she swayed in Santana's arms.

"_I've been beaten down,  
I've been kicked around.  
But she takes it all for me.  
And I lost my faith, in my darkest days.  
She makes me want to believe._

They call her love, love, love, love, love.  
They call her love, love, love, love, love.  
She is Love,  
And she is all I need.  
She's all I need.

_Well I had my ways.  
They were all in vain, 'N' She waited patiently.  
It was all the same, all my pride and shame.  
She put me on my feet._

They call her love, love, love, love, love.  
They call her love, love, love, love, love.  
They call her love, love, love, love, love.  
She is Love,  
And she is all I need.  
She is Love,  
And she is all I need.  
She is Love,  
And she is all I need." 

Santana twirled Rachel around, pulling her in to her body before meeting her lips in a slow kiss.

"I love you, Rachel."

"I love you too, Santana."

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks for reading! Please review!

"San?"

Santana rolled over in bed to face the voice that dared wake her from her slumber.

"Yes, Rachel?" she croaked, eyes half-open.

"Why is it so hard for you to say that you love me?"

Santana sighed and sat up, pulling the sheets up to cover her body.

"You know why, Rach."

"Santana, I think it's more than just the fact that you don't like the words," Rachel replied, tugging at a stray thread on their comforter.

"Rachel, I've been hurt."

"I understand that, Santana. I have as well."

"I know, Rach. Just… Let me finish."

Rachel nodded, tentatively reaching out to grasp Santana's hand.

"Bad things always happen after I say those words."

"Santana, that's just coincidence. Or bad timing. People don't appreciate—"

"Rachel. Let me finish, please."

Rachel sighed, miming zipping her lips.

"You know that my dad died when I was young, yes?"

Rachel nodded, squeezing Santana's hand.

"The last thing I said to him was 'I love you,'" Santana choked out, eyes downcast.

"That's beautiful, Santana."

"Rachel…," Santana warned.

"Sorry. Being quiet now."

"When my mom was told she had cancer, I had just told her I loved her."

"But…"

Santana pinned Rachel with a slight glare and Rachel squeezed her hand.

"The first girl I fell in love with, Brittany… When I told her, she told me she was with Artie."

Santana closed her eyes, sighing deeply.

"My abuelita disowned me when I told her. Every time where I remember putting as much feeling as I could behind those words, something awful happened afterwards. I know it seems silly or like it's just a coincidence. I know you'll say that those words have no bearing on my fate or something. But it's… It feels like every time I say it, something bad will happen."

"… Did anything bad happen when you told me?"

"You almost went into a panic attack."

"San, you know why that happened. It wasn't because—"

"I know. Just… I know."

Rachel sat and watched the gears screech to a halt as her girlfriend closed off, her mind shutting down.

"San."

"What? You want to ask me more prying questions? Or are we done here?"

"Santana…"

"What the fuck else do you want from me?" Santana growled, getting off of the couch to rummage through their cupboards. Her hand closed around the neck of a clear, glass bottle. She wrenched off the top and took a swig, wincing at the sting of alcohol.

"Santana."

"What?"

"Please, don't do this."

"Do what? Ruin everything because I'm a fucking mess? Because I'm fucking cursed? Because I can't even say 'I love you' without something awful happening?"

Rachel sighed and grabbed the bottle from Santana's hand, depositing it on the counter.

"Dance with me."

"Rachel, I'm not down with whatever stupid Broadway icebreaker that you—"

"Please."

Santana groaned, extending her arms in a way that more resembled a zombie impersonator than a dancer. Rachel tried not to giggle at her girl and carefully took her hand, leading her to the open space between their living room and kitchen.

"Rachel, there's no music."

Rachel sighed, wrapping her arms around Santana's waist, leaning her head on the girl's chest. Santana's arms hung stubbornly limp at her sides as she shuffled from side to side, groaning and sighing.

Rachel grasped Santana's arms, forcibly wrapping them around her body.

Santana left her arms limp around Rachel's shoulders before giving in and holding the girl as they swayed. Rachel started to hum, which inevitably turned to singing as she swayed in Santana's arms.

"_I've been beaten down,  
I've been kicked around.  
But she takes it all for me.  
And I lost my faith, in my darkest days.  
She makes me want to believe._

They call her love, love, love, love, love.  
They call her love, love, love, love, love.  
She is Love,  
And she is all I need.  
She's all I need.

_Well I had my ways.  
They were all in vain, 'N' She waited patiently.  
It was all the same, all my pride and shame.  
She put me on my feet._

They call her love, love, love, love, love.  
They call her love, love, love, love, love.  
They call her love, love, love, love, love.  
She is Love,  
And she is all I need.  
She is Love,  
And she is all I need.  
She is Love,  
And she is all I need." 

Santana twirled Rachel around, pulling her in to her body before meeting her lips in a slow kiss.

"I love you, Rachel."

"I love you too, Santana."


End file.
